Twenty Eight Breakdowns
by Rebecca Hb
Summary: G1: The 28 Breakdown ficlets I'm writing for the 28s meme on LJ, about everyone's favorite paranoid Decepticon carboi. Genre ranges all over the place, and chapters are not necessarily related. Slash warned for in chapter titles.
1. Book Reading

**Book-Reading Breakdown**

# # #

A/N: A mild crossover with the webcomic Unshelved.

# # #

Dewey tilted his head slightly to look past the transformed Lamborghini and Porsche taking up most of the lobby. They'd smashed through the front of the building not ten seconds ago; the patrons and rest of the staff had scattered in record time. Except for Merv, who was hiding under the Information Desk, not far from Dewey's legs.

He'd just gotten back from sick leave, too, and this happened. "There was a door, y'know."

"It was too small." The Lamborghini leaned down, resting his elbows on the floor and his chin on his hands. "You work here? I'm looking for a book."

Dewey considered saying 'No, I stand behind the Information Desk for the fun of it'. "Yes, I work here. What are you looking for?"

The masked Porsche looked around the area with an aura of apathetic disdain. The Lamborghini ignored him. "The new Pratchett. Large-print if you've got it."

Of course, thought Dewey, as he tapped away at his keyboard. "Looks like you're in luck, someone just returned it. You want to check it out here rather than at Circulation?"

The Lamborghini frowned slightly. "Yes?" he hazarded.

"All right. Lemme just see your library card-"

"Library card?"

Why do I bother? Dewey sighed and grabbed a library card from the drawer. "I just need your name and some contact information, then you can check out books whenever you like. Hopefully without breaking the front of the building each time."

"... Okay."

**End**


	2. Naive: Implied Slash

**Naive Breakdown**

# # #

A/N: This particular ficlet takes place in a Transformers: Cybertron AU, where the Stunticons are natives to the planet of Speedia. A lot has happened since they first showed up, but Wildrider is Clocker's boyfriend and Dead End went off with Red Alert and Hot Shot to learn how to be a better medic.

# # #

Breakdown sat patiently up on the jacks while Dead End examined his undercarriage. Nearby, Red Alert sat with his back to the two of them. He was meant to be supervising, but having him watch made Breakdown nervous. The brothers were still close enough that when one of them got nervous, the others picked up on it. Having Dead End's hands shivering was deemed to be 'bad'.

Getting a tuneup from a mechanic he trusted was very nice, though. Boring, unfortunately, but he hadn't seen Dead End in months. They had a lot of catching up to do. "So, what have you and Red Alert been doing?"

"Playing doctor," came the reply.

Red Alert fumbled and dropped the circuitboard he had been looking at.

Breakdown flicked his headlights to show a nod. "Red Alert really is teaching you to be a doctor then?"

"Oh, he is."

"That's good. Motormaster thought he might have just taken you off to be his catamite."

Red Alert spluttered.

**End**


	3. Dancing

**Dancing Breakdown**

# # #

A/N: This particular ficlet takes place in a Transformers: Cybertron AU, where the Stunticons are natives to the planet of Speedia. A lot has happened since they first showed up, but Wildrider is Clocker's boyfriend and Dead End went off with Red Alert and Hot Shot to learn how to be a better medic.

# # #

"You don't know how to dance?"

Clocker shook his head. "Not like you do, Breakdown. I mean, you're really flexible, and I didn't think anyone's spinal struts could bend like that more than once, much less-"

Breakdown put a hand to Clocker's mouth. "It's not that hard. Here," He wrapped his arm around Clocker's waist. "Now, put your hand to my upper arm. Yeah, right there. Give me your other hand... Good, good. Now, look to the right and shift your weight forward to the front part of your feet."

Clocker shivered as he found himself practically cheek-to-cheek with Breakdown. Then that sultry music started up again, and Breakdown instructed him in how to step.

Several hours later, Clocker collapsed on the floor. "Wow. That was... Amazing. Um... I don't think I can move."

Breakdown chuckled and sat down next to him. "System overload. You need a few minutes to reboot."

Clocker tried to nod. "Yeah. Yeah. Wow, Breakdown, who do you usually do that with?"

"... Drag Strip, actually." The pale car grinned. "It's easy to get him to do weird things if you know how."

"Tell him you're better at it than he is?"

"Heh. Smart kid." Breakdown patted his shoulder. "I hope you're up for another round when you finish rebooting."

Clocker gulped.

**End**


	4. Horny: Slash

**Horny Breakdown**

# # #

"You're using up my polish," Dead End observed.

Breakdown stroked his polish-covered fingers along his inner thighs, working it into the smooth, smooth cream-colored metal. No Stunticons ever got dinged or dented in the line of duty, oh no. Impenetrable forcefields did make for one less thing to worry about when getting shiny. Even if, mmm, he did have to rub _very_ hard to feel it.

His hips lifted a bit, and he caught the subtle sparkle in Dead End's optics. Not that his brother would ever make a move. Hmm, no, Breakdown would have to look for... bigger prey. He smirked and scooped up more polish.

Dead End shuffled over and set a bottle of wax down near his hands.

Breakdown smirked. "This could be... useful."

"Dare I ask what you're planning?"

Breakdown cupped his brother's mask. "Now, now, that'd be telling. Besides, you'll see soon enough."

Dead End's visor flickered. "Um-"

The door hissed open and the other three Stunticons walked in. Wildrider and Drag Strip seemed to be arguing about music, while Motormaster ignored them. All three came to a stop as they got a good look at the scene.

"So." Wildrider grinned. "We interrupting anything?"

Breakdown chuckled, stood up, and stretched. The shininess shut up even Wildrider, and Breakdown didn't think Drag Strip's optics could get much brighter. Dead End would have plenty of company at least.

The Lamborghini stalked past them, pausing to brush Motormaster's hand with his own. "I still need a wax coat."

"Uh." Motormaster stared down at him holding the bottle of wax. He looked like Optimus Prime had hit him between the optics with a steel I-beam. "Yeah. Wax."

**End**


	5. Exhausted: Slash

**Exhausted Breakdown**

# # #

There were two pairs of arms wrapped around him, and Drag Strip and Motormaster were growling at each other over his head. If he could work up the energy to do something about it... well, he'd do something about it. For now, he just watched them both and continued to pet Dead End's helm. The Porsche lay with his head on Breakdown's abdomen, shoulders spreading the Lamborghini's thighs.

Wildrider giggled softly and curled up tighter to Dead End, his head on Breakdown's knee. "I can barely move, and I know Deady and Breakdown can't. What're you two going to do if you win?"

Drag Strip paused. "... 'll Have won," he mutters, his strained vocoder reducing his voice to a rasp.

Wildrider giggled again. Motormaster tugged Breakdown closer to him, which wound up tugging the whole pile over as the Lamborghini's legs were locked around Dead End's shoulders, and neither Wildrider nor Drag Strip were willing to let go of their brothers.

Breakdown smiled at Motormaster and hoped nothing required him to move for the next twelve hours.

**End**


	6. Greedy: Slash

**Greedy Breakdown**

# # #

It wasn't very nice of him to point out that Onslaught didn't have the temperment to get Motormaster interested in him. Especially while Onslaught precisely stroked him into a wibbling mess of a Decepticon.

No one ever claimed Breakdown was a nice mech, though. (Well, Megatron had, but Megatron's definition of 'nice' made Autobots twitch and scurry for cover.)

Onslaught's hand froze briefly, then the Combaticon leader silenced him by slipping two fingers into his mouth and curling _just so_... He quivered, coherency vanishing utterly. Onslaught was quite adept at getting around the fact that he couldn't kiss the Lamborghini. He said nothing in response to Breakdown's comment, merely worked all the harder to finish the car off.

Later, while he lay limply on his berth, Breakdown realized that Onslaught had actually started thinking about it. After all, Onslaught didn't like to silence him with fingers if he could help it; Breakdown had noticed how rarely he did that.

The Lamborghini chuckled and hoped he could keep this from Motormaster next time they formed Menasor. After all, Motormaster got angry enough over Breakdown's little threesome fantasies. He'd go absolutely nuts and bolts if he thought Breakdown was trying to bring it about.

But the idea was just so... mmmmm... One hand drifted down to fondle his hip-joint. He just _had to_ have it. The fantasy was a drug that wouldn't leave him alone until he did _something_ about it.

Besides, two gestalt commanders were far better than one.

**End**


	7. Silly

**Silly Breakdown**

# # #

"Six thick thistle sticks. Six thix- Argh!" Breakdown clenched his fists then deliberately loosened them. "Six," he began slowly. "Six thick thistle sticks. Six thick thixles- Grr!"

Dead End edged away from his brother. "I don't know you."

"It's a tongue twister, Deadster." Wildrider leaned over the back of their ratty couch-bench-thing that they'd absconded with from Shockwave's office several years earlier. It had been in impeccable condition when they took it, but years of abuse made it a rather sad piece of furniture now.

"Six thick thistle stick-" Breakdown's hands tightened reflexively on his knees. "Six. Thick. Thistle. Sticks. Six. Thick. Thixl-"

"I know what it is. I just don't see why he's wasting his time on something so frivolous."

"Because I want to," Breakdown muttered. "Six thick thistle sticks. Six thick thistles stick. HAH!"

Wildrider's optics flashed a blink. "Neat. Can you do it again?"

"Six thick thixles- AGH! WILDRIDER!"

**End**


	8. Dominant: Slash

**Dominant Breakdown**

# # #

Breakdown shoved Dead End to the floor and dropped down atop his brother. His hands roamed hungrily over the glassy shine of the Porsche's constantly-polished armor. The shine didn't come off onto his fingers, nor did his unpolished hands wipe away all the work his brother had so carefully done. For some reason, that made him chuckle low and dark.

Dead End turned his head away, much as he always did when one of the others cornered him. Non-involvement bored his brothers, even if Drag Strip was stupidly stubborn and would keep trying to effect him until the sun went dark.

Unfortunately for the Porsche, Breakdown had never set the personal challenge to get him off without removing his mask like Drag Strip had. Dead End had a standard battle-mask, easily removable if you knew the right places to press. He hunched over Dead End, knees pressed against the Porsche's hips as he gently explored the edges of his mask. He almost jumped out of his armor when Dead End lightly touched his thigh.

The mask came off with a click, and Breakdown threw it across the room. It rang as it struck the floor, and he kissed Dead End, hands tight on his shoulders.

Mouths opened and glossae intertwined, hands grabbed and held on to each other, chests ground together as they kissed. Their armor and forcefields dulled their sense of touch, but no armor or forcefield coated their inner mouths. _This_ was almost as sweet as the road under your tires and the wind against your sides, when everything outside of the road blurred into unimportance and all that mattered was how fast you could stay on the road.

A vibration rose up from Dead End's engine that would never have been felt if Breakdown hadn't invaded his mouth. The Lamborghini purred in response and pressed their mandenta together to better transmit and receive the engine vibrations. They came in more and more frequency, though only a little stronger than the first.

_Forward of you,_ Dead End drawled over a comm-line.

_Shut up and kiss me, you fool._

**End**


	9. Kick Ass

**Kick Ass Breakdown**

# # #

Breakdown swerved through a hail of laserfire, only a few blasts spattering against his shields. Most of them tore up the highway, which slowed down the pursuing Autobots. He flashed his high-beams in rapid mockery as the Autobot comm frequency erupted in chatter. He couldn't make out what they said through the encryption, but it was a safe bet Air Raid and Fireflight were getting yelled at.

A little thing like Prowl's ire wouldn't keep them from chasing down the Stunticon, though. After all, he had an injured, practically crippled, Megatron in his front seat. Well, on the floor now and yelling at him about his driving, but Breakdown mostly tuned that out.

The Lamborghini wanted to grin when the two hotshots really lit up their engines. In ten seconds, they'd be practically on top of him. So, they wanted to ram him rather than causing more property damage with their blasters? That was just...

Perfect.

He threw himself into reverse and let his engine really _hum_. He zoomed backwards between the Aerialbots, threw himself forward again into overdrive, and flashed between them once more. Two passes from his engine-vibrations did the job, and the Aerialbots' engines died.

They descended gracefully, trying for a belly-landing. Best thing they could do, really, but Breakdown had been there to pick up the pieces after Ramjet got forced down like that. Sure, they wouldn't die if they did this, but they'd have lose that momentum somehow-

They hit the ground and skidded along on their bellies to either side of him, metal screaming as it was torn off. The Aerialbots were screaming, too, but the Autobot comm frequency had gone dead.

Breakdown put his pedal to the metal as the Autobot frequency exploded with noise.

**End**


	10. Disheveled: Implied Slash

**Dishevelled Breakdown**

# # #

"Oh, honestly," Dead End sighed. "Do you really want to die looking like that?"

Breakdown brushed awkwardly at the grey soot-like streaks in his pale armor. Not that his hands did much of anything but draw attention with their movement; the grey was well and truly mixed with his paint. "It's no big deal. No one's going to notice."

"Of course not. Your thighs and sides regularly turn grey after all." The Porsche shook his head.

Shoulders hunching, Breakdown sidled towards the door. At least it wasn't Drag Strip, he told himself. The racecar would be even worse about the whole thing. But why couldn't it have been Wildrider? He might have noticed, but at least he would let Breakdown distract him onto another topic.

Evidently taking pity on his brother, Dead End patted the bench next to him. "Sit down."

"Nh?"

"Sit down. I still have some paint in your colors... I think."

Breakdown's fingers twitched. Dead End preferred to use a brush to apply paint, even though he could have requested an airbrush. An airbrush would probably have been easier, too, but there was something very... different about the feel of a brush. Especially when it was flicking lightly at your thighs. "... All right."

**End**


	11. Naughty

**Naughty Breakdown**

# # #

"You're looking at me."

Bluestreak conspicuously turned to look at Wildrider. The grey Ferrari grinned at him, and Bluestreak wondered if he should take his chances with staring at Breakdown. No, he could handle this, he'd already been on this shift for three and a half hours, and this was his third shift in the brig. Just half an hour left, and then Sideswipe would get to watch the Stunticon pair. Then Bluestreak could go huddle in his quarters and try not to think about the stories Wildrider told so happily and what was actually going on in them if you listened to what he said instead of just hearing his voice.

The two Stunticons hung shackled in seperate cells of the Ark's brig. A high-powered energy grid covered the entrance to Wildrider's cell, but there wasn't even metal plating over Breakdown's. Neither Wheeljack or Perceptor had found anything that could prevent the Stunticon's engine-vibrations from short-circuiting it, and they didn't want to take the chance of Breakdown learning any new tricks. So Red Alert just had him chained hand and foot and hung upside down in the middle of the cell. It seemed like a good deal - they'd kept both Stunticons caged for almost three days now.

Twenty-five minutes before the end of his shift, a distress call came in the Texas oilfields. The Combaticons were hitting the place, obviously on an energy raid. Bluestreak grinned a bit as Optimus dispatched the Aerialbots to deal with them; the Protectobots were on a mission in Africa and in no place to get to the assault in time.

Fifteen minutes before the end of the shift, the President called Optimus on the big red phone. Someone had a tap on the Las Vegas power grid, and there were brightly colored F-15s circling over the city. It was a very delicate situation, and could the Prime do something about this with a minimal loss of life and property?

Bluestreak only found out about this when Ratchet ducked in, did that weird flick-twist and moved his chevron so he could jack in to the Datsun's systems. "Ratchet? Um, couldn't you have just asked whatever you wanted to know? I'm not like the Dinobots, I can tell you what's going on in my systems just fine. And this is kind of uncomfortable-"

The ambulance grunted as he examined the readouts he pulled from Bluestreak's systems. "You're too drained for this mission. Stay here and watch the Stunticons." Ratchet paused a to hit the Datsun's head lightly. "And don't let Wheeljack hear you saying things like that about the Dinobots."

"Wait, mission? What mission-? Ratchet!"

The ambulance paused in the doorway. "We've got a bad situation in Las Vegas, Bluestreak. Everyone who goes has to be in top condition, which you're not. So, we need you to just stay here and keep on this shift, all right?"

Bluestreak nodded slowly. "Sure. I can do that, Ratchet."

"Good." Ratchet left, and Bluestreak adjusted his chevron. He tensed as he heard Wildrider's sniggering and had to turn back to face the two bright-opticced Stunticons.

"Awww! Poor, tired little Autobotling. All alone with us! What should we do with him, Breakdown?"

"**Stop** directing his attention at me."

Bluestreak's door-wings quivered, and he double-cycled air through his cooling systems. The Stunticons didn't go away like a bad dream should. They hung there, queer purple optics on him. Staring. Just staring, and Wildrider smiling.

Well, it wasn't like they had anything else to do. They were stuck here until Red Alert and Optimus figured out what to do with them, which wouldn't be anytime soon. Prowl had made a few remarks about the argument, something about Red Alert being as bad as a Decepticon with what he suggested. It made Bluestreak nervous to hear about, and he'd asked Prowl to stop telling him about it at all until the official decision was made.

Bluestreak mustered up a smile and started a game of solitaire on the brig computer. Red Jack on black Queen...

# # #

Breakdown waited, optics on the Autobot. Fifteen minutes since Ratchet left, seven minutes since Bluestreak should have gone off-shift. He'd give it another five before he made his move.

Over in the other cell, he could hear the rustling of metal that the Autobots had reassured him was just Wildrider testing the strength of his shackles. He grinned a bit; he'd never realized the power of a paranoid fit among non-Decepticons before this incarceration. The Lamborghini had worked himself into a frenzy and almost set Bluestreak sobbing, and instead of getting hit, he got fire-engine cuddles, soothing words, and some very good drugs.

The next five minutes passed achingly slowly. Wildrider tried to start a story three times, but the Autobot ignored him. Whatever was on that monitor had to be enthralling.

As soon as the five minutes were up, Breakdown began to crank up his engines. It would take a good half hour to get the vibrations going enough to take out the energy grid on Wildrider's cell without the Autobot noticing anything before it fell. But if they didn't take this nice and slow, then neither Stunticon would ever get out of here.

The Lamborghini just hoped that whatever the trouble in Las Vegas was, it would take a couple of hours to resolve.

# # #

Wildrider wriggled against his restraints. They were a cinch too tight; he could see the wear in his paint from where they'd rubbed against his arms. He wouldn't have even noticed if his forcefields were up, though.

If he reactivated his forcefields right now... He giggled. They'd slice right through the shackles, and he'd just have to get through the energy grid. Stupid Autobots had taken away his weapons, but they hadn't even checked to see if he'd kept his forcefields up. Just _assumed_-!

The dissonant vibrations from Breakdown's engine buzzed along the outside of his shell and made his head-spikes crawl. It felt really fragging weird, and he kept rubbing his helm against the cell wall to make it stop. Didn't really work, but it felt better for a little while. And if he stopped rubbing them, the sensation came back a hundred times worse.

As he was industriously rubbing his spikes against the wall, the energy grid flickered and died. Breakdown's engine cut off, his spikes felt better than ever, and Wildrider reactivated his forcefields just as he heard a clatter of metal. That'd probably be Breakdown hitting the floor.

"Gyah!"

Wildrider heard laserfire as he reactivated his forcefields. They sliced neatly through his shackles, trapping about a nanometer of foreign metal next to his armor. Kinda ugly, and it'd wear his paint more, but he could fix that when he got home.

The Ferrari shook his head, then looked at the situation. He couldn't see Breakdown, so he had to be still in his cell. Bluestreak crouched behind Red Alert's desk, firing his shoulder-guns into Breakdown's cell. Wasn't having much of an effect if the sick look on his face was any clue. Silly Datsun had to be panicking; he knew **better** than to shoot directly at a Stunticon.

Wildrider cackled and darted towards the door. "C'mon, Breakdown! Stop fooling around!"

Breakdown stalked out of his cell, ignoring the laserfire spattering against his shields. He paused to cold-cock the Autobot before turning to his brother. "You're such an idiot."

Wildrider grinned and grabbed the edge of the door-frame as he prepared to hurl himself into the hallway. "Let's- get- _dangerous_."

**End**


	12. Bath Time: Implied Slash

**Bath Time Breakdown**

# # #

They were going to be late.

The Combaticons and the Stunticons had both wound up at Starbase Rugby after their respective latest missions, both stepping through the air-locks just in time to get the message that Starscream would be coronated Emperor of the Decepticons in one hour.

They were going to be late.

Half an hour had been wasted already, with only the last ten minutes used productively. The first twenty had been wasted with the locals trying to explain what had happened to Megatron, well, what **Starscream** said had happened to Megatron and with Onslaught convincing all of the others that yes, they did want to attend the coronation.

In the last ten minutes, Wildrider and Blast Off and Dead End and Vortex had got shoved through the washers. The reason for each set of two was quite simple - leaving the vain one on his own would have taken far, far too long. Only the loud, obnoxious person could have gotten them moving faster than their own commander.

They were going to be late.

But then Onslaught and Motormaster both had run into trouble with who to shove through next. Brawl and Drag Strip would wind up with someone dead. Drag Strip and Swindle would wind up with something even worse. Breakdown and Swindle would also probably wind up with someone dead.

So they shoved Breakdown and Drag Strip in together with Motormaster yelling that they had damn well better not waste any time.

They were going to be late.

Two cars of the same size and who generally got along should _not_ take this long in the washers. Onslaught glanced at Motormaster. The semi-truck sat with his arms crossed, one set of fingers drumming against the other arm. He glared at the door into the washers, bits of space-frozen debris melting off him.

Onslaught wouldn't have any time to watch him with icy water spilling down his back if the Stunticons didn't _hurry up_.

They were going to be late.

Onslaught stood up at the same time Motormaster did and strode towards the washroom. He pulled the door open and glared at the two occupants. "Stop that. Right now. The both of you. There are four more people who still have to wash up."

An incoherent growl came from Motormaster, which seemed to do more to galvanize the two Stunticons.

They were going to be _very_ late.

**End**


	13. Drinking Energon

**Drinking Energon Breakdown**

# # #

"You shouldn't do this," Breakdown whispered. "You're barely-"

Motormaster covered his mouth with his own again, the ragged fuel line pushing through his mouth and into the Lamborghini's. He sawed it against Breakdown's mandenta until it ruptured again and precious fuel poured out.

Breakdown couldn't help gulping it down - he was so _hungry_! He pressed closer to the grey semi-truck, trying to drink down everything he would give. For one blessed moment, it didn't matter that Motormaster barely drank any of the energon they scavenged or that when he did, he'd take one of them aside and feed it to them. No, now there was just heat and electricity flashing through him, and he was almost his old self again, zooming down the roads-

Then the flow of fuel ceased and Motormaster pulled back. Breakdown quivered in his arms, optics at full-bright. "You shouldn't-"

"Shut up."

Breakdown ducked his head. He could hear Motormaster panting, too fuel-starved to cool himself with his radiator. Carefully, the Lamborghini extricated himself from his brother's grip. "Yes, Motormaster. I'll-" I'll find some fuel, I'll get us some repairs, I'll make everything better- "I'll go scavenge."

"Yeah."

"Motormaster- The Autobots-"

"**No.**"

Breakdown nodded and walked away, feet scuffing against the rocky ground.

**End**


	14. Well Shagged: Slash

**Well Shagged Breakdown**

# # #

Drag Strip found Breakdown spilled on the deck, limbs a'splay. His armor didn't show the mauling he must have gotten, but Drag Strip could read it in the streaks of grey paint mixed with the Lamborghini's cream-and-blue. He nudged Breakdown with his foot; the only immediate response he got was a flicker of his optics.

"Got you good, didn't he?"

_Mmmm._ Breakdown's reply came as faintly as if he was another solar system. He didn't sound unhappy, though.

"Want to stay here?"

_Mmmmmmm!_

"... Got you real good." Drag Strip nudged him again. "You sure you want to stay in a public corridor like this?"

_Mmhm._

Drag Strip shrugged. No rubber off his tires to leave him here.

That part of him that he blamed on Dead End, the part that could look at a situation and say he was going to lose, started **screaming** when he heard a door open behind him and a familiar tread stomp out.

"Drag Strip," Motormaster rumbled. That was not the sound of a happily sated semi-truck, as he well knew from experience. That was the tone Motormaster used when he was still in the mood, and he'd damn well better get some or everyone would suffer.

Drag Strip took off at a dead run anyway. He got halfway down the corridor before Motormaster tackled him.

**End**


	15. Turned On: Dark Slash

**Turned-On Breakdown**

# # #

Warnings: Violence. Unhealthy relationship. Dubious consensuality. Please, if you know those things will upset you, don't read this.

# # #

"Are you sure about this? Only, Sunny and Sides will be really mad if they find out, and Red Alert's going to look at me funny, like he did to Cliffjumper that time when 'Jumper started raving about Mirage being a spy, which was totally weird, because you'd think he'd latch onto that sort of thing and start flailing about Mirage, too, but no, he just kept _looking_ at Cliffjumper-"

Breakdown smiled slightly and cupped the Datsun's cheek. "Bluestreak..."

"Oh, right, sorry." Bluestreak shifted and tried to make himself comfortable in the little bower Breakdown had made. He wasn't sure of what exactly, and he suspected that he didn't really want to know. When dealing with Lamborghinis, Bluestreak had long ago figured out that sometimes you just shouldn't ask questions.

The Stunticon stroked his cheek. "Are _you_ sure, Bluestreak? This'll hurt you."

"It's okay. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe can be really rough, and I don't really expect you to go easy on me. I mean, you're a Stunticon, and-"

Breakdown silenced him with a kiss, soft and insistant. Bluestreak dimmed his optics almost to full-dark and parted his lips. His door-wings quivered as the Stunticon climbed on top of him, hands roaming over his hood. Some instinct gave him half a micro's warning when Breakdown's hands settled over his headlights, but he didn't quite believe-

Breakdown pulled one hand back and plunged it into his headlight, shattering the clear shield, smashing the bulb, and yanking out the cables connecting it to his optical sensor systems. He yelled into the Stunticon's mouth, tried to shove Breakdown off of him. His other headlight was taken out in the time it took Bluestreak to discover that he couldn't move Breakdown if the Stunticon didn't want to move.

The Lamborghini never broke the kiss, and his hands settled comfortably on Bluestreak's hips. The Datsun whimpered as Breakdown's clever fingers probed at his hip joints. It shouldn't feel _good_ anymore, he'd just been assaulted, he'd made a terrible mistake-!

Breakdown raised a hand to his door-wing and stroked it _just right_. Bluestreak wibbled, unconsciously lifting his hips to give the hand still carressing his hip-joint better access.

Finally, the Lamborghini broke the kiss. "Now for your optics..." He kissed Bluestreak again to stifle his gasp. "Then we'll have all the time in the world, Bluestreak."

**End**


	16. Caring

**Caring Breakdown**

# # #

Sienna took a moment to sanitize his hands and rinse the dried soap off his chest. Iniquity left generous tips every visit, but the car'transformer really didn't need her pulling him into the tub with her. Ah, well, it wasn't his place to correct.

He looked himself over in the mirror and wiped a few errant scuff-marks off the back of his shoulders, touched up the fine-coat over his optics so that they didn't fog up when he went back out, and stepped out of the door marked Employees Only and into the main baths. He surveyed the room quickly, noting three jet-triads splashing and chattering in the main pool, a large grey truck wallowing in one of the shallow pools, a smaller car drying himself off under the blowers, and three occcupants in the steam-room.

The truck ignored him as he drifted by, and the jets assured him that none of them needed anything extra. Given the prices for most extra services and the Decepticon's army lack of backpay for the planetary shutdown, Sienna could well understand why.

"Hey," The cream-and-blue car said as he approached. "How long does a Fossatensian bath take?"

"As long as you want." Sienna smiled friendly-like, keeping his dental plates covered. "We don't put any time limits on our customers."

"Yeah, but..." He frowned and pressed the button to deactivate the blowers. His face and chest were still a bit wet, though, so Sienna removed a fluffy towel from subspace and offered it to him. The customer looked at him suspiciously but took it. "What's a good minimun?"

Sienna assumed the n-sound on the end was an accent. "Most of our customers prefer at least half an hour in the cool rooms, and fifteen minutes in the pool and hot room."

He nodded and wiped his face off, then tossed the towel back to the bath attendant. "All right. Do we need reservations or anything?"

"It is helpful." Sienna tucked the towel away in one of his other subspace pockets. "A reservation will ensure that the rooms don't get too crowded up with people."

The cream-and-blue car nodded. "What if I wanted just two people in there?"

"It would cost extra to restrict access." Sienna lowered his voice. "And between you and me, there's not enough people who want one during the upshift to warrant paying for that, if you make your reservations for then."

The customer nodded, then glanced over his shoulder at the steam-room. "I'm going back in there."

"All right." Sienna smiled at the customer's back, then drifted up towards the regular entrance to the bath area of the bath-house. Perhaps some customers up there needed assistance or perhaps he could shoot the breeze with Impala.

# # #

Breakdown sidled up next to Dead End. "Want to come back next time we're off-duty and off-call? There's a little something we ought to try out..."

**End**


	17. Jealous: Slash

**Jealous Breakdown**

# # #

A/N: This is a follow-up to Dragoness Eclectic's Get Well Soon, which is itself a sequel to her Bring Flowers. Both fics can be found through my Favorite Authors under her handle.

# # #

"You were with Starscream," Breakdown hissed, something not unlike hate in his voice. "Starscream, of all jets, the **best** of jets. The **Air Commander**."

They'd always had problems with jets, hadn't they? Even when he could stir himself to irritation, Dead End found jets drawing most of his ire after Motormaster and Drag Strip. After all, the Stunticons had been built to fight Autobots, and to trump them, the Autobots had built jets. There was a sly, dark little thought that niggled in the back of all the Stunticons' minds - 'they think jets are better than cars'.

Dead End set aside such thoughts. He knew where Breakdown was coming from, yes, but that alone wasn't enough to placate the Lamborghini. (And wasn't it almost amusing how Lamborghinis, any Lamborghinis, had such terrible tempers? Surely, their alt-mode couldn't _cause_ that.) "Yes, I was."

The blow came almost too fast, but Dead End didn't even try to flinch out of the way. The back-handed return blow did catch him by surprise - Motormaster usually contented himself with one hit or used both hands when he needed to pound a lesson in.

"So you went to Cybertron and dug him up- Because, what? I'm only good enough for sloppy seconds?" Breakdown's violet optics flashed and flared. "Or did he decide he wanted **two** cars to be his worshipful toys?"

"I didn't invite him," Dead End said, each word clipped. "What he did to you was beyond stupid, and should he show his face around here again, he will be punished for it."

"Stupid," Breakdown repeated. "But not unpardonable?"

"I think you mean unforgivable," Dead End dared to murmur. "And that wasn't actively malicious on his part, I suspect."

Breakdown hit him again. He was far faster than Motormaster, and the Porsche had only ever watched Drag Strip hit other people. The yellow racecar simply didn't bother trying to fight with Dead End physically.

"He was **_watching_** us! For who knows how long-! How much did he hear, how much did he see? Everything?" A high edge of hysteria colored the Lamborghini's voice.

Dead End reached out and brushed the back of his knuckles across Breakdown's face, optics brightening at how much that seemed to soothe his brother. "He'll be punished, Breakdown. You have my word on it."

"What good is your word?" Breakdown asked. "You hardly bestir yourself from your e-books when you're **not** in a depressed funk. Wildrider's promises are worth more."

That hit harder than Breakdown's fists, and Dead End could see it in the set of the Lamborghini's shoulders and hear it in the jagged edge of his engine rumble that Breakdown had meant it to. "You're not precisely helping with that, Breakdown..."

"I'm sorry, getting fucked by Starscream, getting **used** for that **bastard's** pleasure, doesn't exactly make me want to." His engine-snarl was more full of wrath than his too-clipped words. "**Especially** not when I find out that you went to him willingly!"

"Not when you were there!" Dead End snapped. "I needed to know about death, and he was- is- the only person who could answer such questions!"

"You let him spin your steering wheel!"

"I didn't go to Cybertron to have sex with him! It was more important than that!"

"But you did wind up letting him work your accelerator, didn't you, Dead End?" Breakdown's hand closed around the Porsche's throat, and he snarled, "And then when you came _back_ from him, you decided I could make a nice little replacement."

"You pursued me." Sometimes Dead End wondered why he said such blatantly suicidal things when he actually wasn't feeling particularly despairing.

"Maybe it's time for you to pursue me, then." Breakdown's engine _screamed_ as he turned and walked away from the Porsche.

**End**


	18. Obedient

**Obedient Breakdown**

# # #

A/N: This uses the timeline created in kepulver's Combaticon ficlet, Orphans.

Special thanks to Lunatron for putting up and answering my incessant questions about the G2 Cybertronians.

Jhiaxus's dialogue is pretty much taken word-for-word from what he said in the G2 comics.

# # #

Breakdown woke up with a great gaping hole in his mind, and a large steamroller holding him down as he convulsed. Through the veil of shadows, he could hear Drag Strip yelling and thrashing, then suddenly go silent. That should have worried him, he decided later. It just didn't seem as important as the utter loss of Menasor, the great other-self vanished from his mind entirely.

Someone shoved a hypospray down his throat, and everything turned warm and fuzzy.

# # #

He didn't know how long he languished in that drugged haze, but one day, his mind was as clear as the desert sky. He sat up and looked around; the room was obviously a medical ward, though not as neat as the Constructicons would keep it, and two of the so-called Cybertronians bustled around, cleaning up an empty table. There was no sign of Drag Strip.

The Cybertronians glanced at Breakdown as he slid off the table he sat on, but didn't make a move towards him. Hate flashed through him, hate that they dared to stand there so nonchalantly when his gestalt was shattered. His engine revved to life, discordant notes buzzing at the edge of hearing-

- The door slid open, and the sheer presence of the Transformer framed in the doorway stalled Breakdown's engine. Then the great chrome and yellow flier, massive as a Dinobot, and with lurid green optics, stepped into Medical.

"Weclome. I am Jhiaxus," he rumbled, voice so deep that the lower notes delved below human hearing. "And, as you are no doubt aware, your life is in my hands. Had I wished, I could have simply pulverized you from space. I chose instead... to educate you! To show you the true nature of the war you are fighting."

His voice vibrated in Breakdown's struts, and the Lamborghini stared up at Jhiaxus like he had found Megatron once again.

**End**


	19. Happy

**Happy Breakdown**

# # #

On a dark desert highway, a pale Lamborghini flew over the road. His tires barely seemed to skim the pavement, he drove so swift and maneuvered so sweetly. There was no one else on the road for miles and miles, and the wail of his engine filled the night.

His speakers purred out "Stray Cat Strut", the music making his headlights glitter with a little more than moonlight and his tires slide smooth as glass over the pavement. Sometimes it was good to be fast, to let off his brakes and press down his accelerator until the lines on the road just looked like dots.

It was so easy to get caught up in a waking dream, where hours flew past unnoticed and all that mattered was the road under his wheels. Dawn came as a surprise; he'd set out at dusk, and that wasn't so long ago...

Only ten hours, and he'd already crossed half the country.

He wasn't due back for another six hours. He could probably get to the East Coast by then if he hurried.

**End**


	20. At the Beach: Alluded Slash

**At the Beach Breakdown**

# # #

Onslaught studied his targets with an exacting patience. Poor intelligence had ruined more plans than he cared to count, and this particular idea hovered on the edge of the impossible. He suspected that if he could find the right angles into their minds, he could sway the Stunticons to his ideas, could fire their souls with the true potential of their species.

The problem was that he had no idea what was in their pretty, empty-seeming heads. They were a gestalt who barely seemed like they should be able to survive a merge with their minds intact. Two sets of polar opposites and their thuggish commander? Impossible, most engineers would have said. Could their love of violence and this pitiful dustball really tie them together so well?

He sought diligently for every file on them, but they were barely five years old. There just wasn't enough data available for him to sift, and all that there was available hinted strongly that the person recording the data lacked a key piece of understanding.

By extension, Onslaught himself lacked a key piece of understanding.

"What is missing?" He murmurred. "What am I overlooking?"

He pinged the base for the location of all on-Earth Decepticon forces and picked out the one Stunticon he thought best to approach first. Curiously enough, Breakdown was alone with Dead End, the two of them on a very small Pacific island. Hardly more than a sand bar, compared to some of the islands he had seen on this planet.

Dead End was the most intelligent of the Stunticons, by Onslaught's interpretation, but Breakdown was just behind him. Whereas Dead End was apathetic and would likely have to be brought along by his brothers to the cause, Breakdown was proactive if he was certain no one would see him being so. Or sometimes if someone would. The Lamborghini was the first to sway to his cause, and the one that would most likely react best to simple reason.

Onslaught very carefully weighed the possible consequences of simply going to examine the two Stunticons for himself. He preferred not to deal with them outside of combat situations, but that did prevent him from understanding them in a more social context.

Yes, he decided. He would go and observe them. Dead End had that very impressive combat radar, so he would have to pay his respects to them in-person instead of simply lurking nearby.

A pity. He often found the way people interacted far more enlightening if they didn't know he was around. Though, a good contrast study proved just as useful.

Before he stepped out of the room, he requested Blast Off to do a very quick fly-over so that he had some context of what they were up to.

The shuttle's answer caused his visor to flash. That was... an unexpected tidbit of information. He would have to consider how it changed his understanding of the Stunticons.

Idly, he wondered if they found it worth getting so much sand in their joints.

**End**


	21. Angsty

**Angsty Breakdown**

# # #

He didn't ask for the little cubby-hole in one of Long Haul's storage rooms, the one among the storage crates no one ever went into because they were full of out-of-date jet parts only being kept around for materials meltdown. This particular storage room was full of obscure stuff that no one wanted, but it was never ever dusty. There was a little tunnel amid the crates that someone small and compact like a (_Constructicon_) Stunticon could worm their way through to the hidey-hole in the back.

Breakdown huddled in his corner now, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around his knees. No one looking at him, no one seeing him, why did he still feel like he was going to shatter and wake up to find himself wearing a necklace of ruby and scarlet optics?

His fingers dug into his legs, forcefields up and all he could feel was pressure. But that was all right, that was all right and safe. Pressure was safer than a felt touch, darkness was safer than people looking at him. Slag Dirge and his fear-generators! Tear him open from stem to stern and lay him bare for the kill, and make the remembered terror of the entire world watching him fade!

He'd frozen when Dirge's subsonics started up, and he hadn't been able to move until Ramjet told the blue jet to knock it off or he'd knock Dirge off. He hadn't been able to move, and he **knew** the other Decepticons had seen it. Knew it down to his struts.

They'd seen his weakness, and none of them much cared for the Stunticons. But the Stunticons were five and wrapped up so defensively tight, they were practically impregnable. Certainly few people could physically harm them.

But find the weak link (_him_) and suddenly everything was different.

He didn't want to be the most useless one, the one that froze up the easiest. He didn't want to be the one who had a hard time dealing with just his brothers sometimes, much less the other Decepticons, much less the **Autobots** (_much less the humans_).

He tried not to give in to it, tried to let them look at him and see him as he ought to be, but it didn't always work. And it never seemed to get any easier.

Breakdown shuddered and curled up a little tighter on himself. His engines were slowing and the fear-prickle slowly fading. Maybe in a few more hours he could crawl out and face the world again.

**End**


	22. On His Knees: Dark Slash

**On-His-Knees Breakdown**

# # #

A/N: This is a follow-up to Turned-On Breakdown.

# # #

Sometimes when the pressure got too much and his gears ground too tight, Sunstreaker just took off down the road as fast as he could go. Sideswipe always followed him, because there was no telling what he would do out there. Not that Sideswipe made that adequate a minder.

This time, though, Sunstreaker had gotten a two-hour head-start on him. He'd only just gotten out of med-bay, and he'd only gotten out this soon because Red Alert was pitching fits at being in there, too. Red made a great distraction when trying to sneak out from under Ratchet's optics. Still, he had a long way to drive **and** he had to catch up with Sunny. Sure, he knew exactly where Sunny was (Ratchet had planted tracking devices on them both ages ago), but that didn't do him a lot of good unless the fragger slowed down.

He did stop eventually, off a highway and down some backroads. Sideswipe's headlights flickered. _Not_ the sort of place Sunstreaker would be caught dead in, if he remembered the terrain around there. What on Cybertron could he be up to?

"You _blinded_ Bluestreaker, you low-priority glitch! I'll tear you to pieces!"

... Oh. Sideswipe cringed a bit as Sunstreaker nearly broke his hand decking Breakdown.

The Stunticon picked himself up off the ground with nary a scratch on his paint or dent on his face. He acted punch-drunk, though; just shook his head until Sunstreaker punched him again. From where he was crouched by the road, Sideswipe could see the paint-wear on his twin's knuckles.

Breakdown pushed himself to his knees and caught Sunstreaker's foot in his chest. He went over backwards, still not a mark on him.

Sideswipe stood up. "Hey, Sunny! Playing a game of Kick the Stunticon without me? I'm hurt!"

Sunstreaker turned his head briefly, smirking. "You were too busy. 'Sides, someone had to catch him. Oh, frag no, you little glitch-!" Sunstreaker turned and tackled Breakdown as he scrambled backwards from the twins. The tackle turned into pinning him and punching him until Sunstreaker's knuckles turned silver.

Sideswipe was only too glad to join him.

Later, when the Stunticon could barely move, Sunstreaker grabbed Sideswipe and pulled him into a kiss. He moaned, metal cold as ice and conductive as copper under Sunstreaker's hands. The Stunticon at their feet became a distant memory as those hands rubbed down his sides and over his hips.

Sunstreaker broke the kiss and rested his nasal ridge against Sideswipe's. Both of them caught the flicker of movement as Breakdown wormed his way out from under them. "Where do you think you're going, glitch?"

The pale Lamborghini flinched. "Motormaster."

Sunstreaker smiled, and Sideswipe found himself taking a step back from his twin. "That's right," said the yellow Lamborghini. "You're Motormaster's little bitch when you aren't messing around with hapless Datsuns."

"Sunny..."

"Shut up, Sideswipe." He hauled Breakdown up and kissed him, arms wrapping around the pale Lamborghini to bind his own arms in place. As incredibly tough as the Stunticons were, they weren't super-strong.

Breakdown, oddly enough, didn't fight back. He just hung limply, optics steadily dimming.

Sunstreaker broke the kiss and made a face. "You're not supposed to like that."

"Mmm." Breakdown tried to pull him down for another kiss; Sunstreaker dropped him. He sprawled in the dirt, still as spotless as if he'd just rolled off the assembly line.

Sideswipe crouched down next to him and pressed a pair of fingers to his mouth. The Stunticon didn't object to him sticking them in there, and he stroked the interior of Breakdown's mouth. The pale Lamborghini's feet kicked at the ground as he thrashed.

"We could have fun with this," He told Sunstreaker. He repeated the carress to Breakdown's mouth and chuckled. "We could have a lot of fun with this."

"_Why_ would we want to?" Sunstreaker crossed his arms and scowled at the horizon.

"He's a Lamborghini, same as us. It'd be fun. It'd be different. Variety is the spice of life, or so the humans say."

"Hmph." But Sunstreaker turned back to them, looking faintly interested. "All right, Sideswipe. We'll give him a tumble. Then the little glitch is going to walk his way back to the Nemesis because I'm going to rip his tires off!"

Sideswipe blinked as he felt engine-vibrations through his fingers in Breakdown's mouth. "Eh...? Oh. That's just sick. Grievous bodily harm is _not_ arousing."

_According to you. You're not a Decepticon._ The pale Lamborghini radioed in response. _Get this over with._

"Real enthusiastic there." So saying, he bent down and added his glossa to the parts of him in Breakdown's mouth. The Stunticon tasted like energon and oil, but mostly like him. It was... interesting. The way Breakdown writhed underneath him was far, far more interesting.

When Sunstreaker joined in, and they pressed the pale Lamborghini between the two of them, trading and sometimes sharing occupation of his mouth, feeling the vibrations of his engine through their glossa and his thrashings with the rest of their bodies... Now _that_ was fun.

**End**


	23. Playing With Kids

**Playing With Kids Breakdown**

# # #

"Hel_lo_, lovely!" A teenage human male, if Breakdown was any judge, sauntered up to him. He circled the car once, twice, peered in Breakdown's windows and checked his tires. The Lamborghini tried not to rock back and forth on his wheels, suppressing the screaming mimis bubbling up in his head.

"Doesn't look like anything's wrong with you. So who would leave such a beauty all alone in a place like this?"

The Stunticon sat parked in a disreputable part of New Orleans. In theory, he was scouting out the area on Soundwave's orders. In practice, he was trying not to have a mental breakdown as the humans flowed all around them. It seemed like everyone knew he was something special, something different, something out of the ordinary-!

Except, they didn't know. They'd slow down and look at him, coo over him, even try to break his windows when they were all alone on the street. He was just a car. Just a rare, expensive, beautiful car that ohPrimus they were going to-

No. No. Calm down. They didn't know. Lamborghinilamborghinilamborghinilamborghini. Expensive, beautiful car. The two humans that had circled around the block in their vehicle **had** been looking at him. Because he was a Lamborghini and thus beautiful and fantastically rare.

No one knew he was a Decepticon.

"Bet you go real fast, don't you, darling?" The teenager finally worked up the nerve to touch him, stroking his hood happily.

"Yes, I do," Breakdown muttered, one thread of tension finally snapping.

The boy's hand froze. "Eheheh._ Oh, God, it's an Autobot._ Sorry 'bout that, dude. Um. Gottagonowbye!" He took off at a dead run, leaving Breakdown to giggle very quietly.

**End**


	24. Exploring

**Asking for Directions**

# # #

**Author's Note:** This takes place on Cybertron, probably in the late '90s/early 2000s.

# # #

Breakdown looked up hopelessly at the night-black sky of Cybertron, then around the ruined city-square he stood at the edge of. It looked a little more blasted and wrecked than the previous three such squares he'd driven through, and the neighborhoods to the west looked worse still.

He seemed to be going deeper into the mess, not getting out of it. Damn, damn, double-damn. He'd tried to access Cybertron's equivalent of GPS earlier that day, but it had led him into the blasted city in the first place. Then when he tried to check his maps, he found them all scrambled up, even the ones from Earth, so he could hardly make heads-or-tail of them. He couldn't even remember the way they were _supposed_ to be, and that frightened him. Something had gotten into his **mind**, and he hadn't even noticed it until he needed his maps.

If he'd been on Earth, he would have used the sun to guide himself until he reached an ocean, because once he'd reached an ocean, he could always find his way back to the Decepticon ship. Better yet, he could have found road signs. Here, though, there were no signs, and he didn't know any of the landmarks in this area of Cybertron.

This wasn't helping. This wasn't helping at all. Breakdown transformed back to car-mode and sat there for a moment, engine idling. If he took a straight line towards the less ruined buildings, he'd probably get out of this wasteland. But then there was the matter of finding the Decepticon base again. Calling for directions wasn't an option, yet. Motormaster would be furious if he broke radio silence before they scoured out the Autobot cell in the area.

He was starting to think he would have to chance it if he didn't want to drive in circles until he ran out of energy.

If Breakdown had been older or a more natural flier, he might have thought to fly over the city and at least survey the land as far as his optics could see. But there had never been a need to do that on Earth, and he'd only been on Cybertron for eight months.

Instead, he wandered through the ruined city for hours, not realizing how turned around he was getting until he wound up at the square he'd started out in. By that time, it was fifteen hours into what he'd meant to be a quick joy-ride, and he'd spent most of that time utterly lost. He didn't have the slightest idea of who put the virus into his system that ruined his maps, but it wouldn't kill him. He'd make his way back to the garrison-

And then? He couldn't just slaughter all of the local garrison, he probably couldn't even kill the one who'd done this to him. Shockwave would be unhappy with him.

His engine wailed in his anger and distress, and the building next to him groaned as screws worked their way out of support beams.

The Lamborghini took a different route out of the square, more southerly than straight east this time. At least roaming around like this helped him to rebuild his maps. He did his best to ignore the niggling part of himself that he blamed on Dead End, the part that was currently telling him that he was grasping at straws over things to be happy about. _That_ sort of attitude wasn't going to get him out of this.

Fifty miles away as the Autobot drives through winding city streets, he rolled into an intersection that wasn't as ruined as the rest of the city. He literally felt the difference under his tires a block out, the road changing from ancient, pitted metallo-ceramic that had long ago lost its ceramic portion to a much smoother, pure metal street.

Not as much debris had fallen on this street, and the only real damage to the buildings were heavy scorch marks. At the intersection was the familiar shape of a Cybertronian fuel-station. In the glare of his headlights, its metal shown with an almost green luster.

He stopped in the road just outside of the station and stared at it. The fuelstation was a little old-fashioned looking and definitely made of green metal instead of the greys of the rest of the city.

A door hauled upwards with a rumble of machinery, and a female voice called out softly, "Hey, why don't you come in for a drink, messenger?"

Breakdown cut off an inarticulate shriek before it barely started and darted down the road. Two buildings past the fuelstation, he made a tight U-turn and cozied up to the building next to it. Then he rolled forward near-silently and peeked around the corner of the building.

The door was still open, and no one had come out of it.

"Who are you?" He demanded, flicking his high-beams on to illuminate the inside of the building. It looked like a cross between a commissary and a medical bay, all the tables attached to the walls and most of them folded up for storage. A garage, according to local terminology. He couldn't see anyone inside, not even the glint of opticshine.

"Obviously not the person you were sent to find. And you made me go and break cover, too!" She sounded deeply offended, as if her breaking cover was more important than her not being anywhere in sight but clearly looking at him-!

He cycled air through all of his systems. "Show yourself. Stop hiding inside where I can't see you."

"Sugarwheels, you're sitting on me."

Breakdown didn't know what she meant and rolled back uncertainly on the metal street. He was sitting-?

Oh, Primus.

Pure metal street in the middle of a city full of ceramo-metal roads. Very little debris among the buildings on that street. Intact buildings, a whole set of them around this intersection, when most other buildings at least had their upper levels torn off.

Oh- Oh- OH!

Lightning-fast, he flipped to robot-mode and jetted off of the metal, above the level of the buildings. He stared downward, waiting for Megatron knew what-

- A flash of orange light went by his head, so close that his near optic shut down to protect itself from the light. She'd shot at him! No, an Autobot had shot at him!

"Slag! That was a ranging shot, get down!"

"Like Hell!" He snarled and pulled out his pistol to return fire. Rarely indulged anger burned in him, and he just wanted to rip someone apart.

Then a plasma blast caught him in the face and smashed him back several yards. He shook his head, clearing out the loud red warnings from his forcefield systems about how many more shots like that he could take. Not enough.

Breakdown cut his thrusters and dropped to the street, transforming just before he hit the metal. He flicked his headlights on briefly; yes, the street was as undefensible as he thought it was. With the other Decepticon as the battlefield, he couldn't use his engine vibrations in the fight at all. Better to just run.

"Get inside," Oikodomopolis hissed. "You'll be safer."

"They'll just come in after me," he snarled, engine revving.

A low chuckle came from the building. "Yeah. They will."

Before he had any time to question her sanity, a volley of laser-blasts spattered against his forcefields. He jinked to the left as the curiously quiet-engined Autobots appeared in the distance. Breakdown returned fire, taking out the leftmost car before the remaining two Autobots transformed and ducked behind cover.

"Watch your rearview," Oikodomopolis snapped as a laser-cannon slid out of a building facade and opened fire. "I've got at least three more behind you, and that one you shot ain't dead yet. Get inside!"

As the Autobots behind Breakdown scattered, the Lamborghini executed a sharp right turn into the garage. He bounced off the back wall with his grill, transformed, and whirled to face the open door. "Close it!"

Oikodomopolis didn't reply, and the door didn't close.

He jerked his head up to her ceiling, expression incredulous. "Close the door!"

He heard the patter of metal feet against metal street, the sound of mechs trying to move quietly but who really couldn't. His optics flared bright, and he thought he heard a barely-there giggle before the first Autobot ducked into the doorway and shot him.

One Autobot shooting lasers at him, he could handle. When the first one shifted out of the doorway and the second one came in, he found himself wishing he had a more helpful backup. When the third got inside, an interior door slid open, and he dashed in just ahead of a plasma blast that would have taken his head off.

There was a short stretch of hallway, another door that opened in front of him, more hallway, a door to the right, more hall-

He dodged, ducked, and wove as lasers and plasma blasts skipped past him. Some part of him wondered when Oikodomopolis was going to stop letting people shoot her up-

-The door he'd just ducked through shut behind him. He heard the Autobots start yelling from the other side, then a sudden explosion of weapons fire. The door didn't start glowing with heat, so it puzzled him as to what they were shooting at. And what was shooting back.

"Make yourself comfy. Drinks'll be on in five," Oikodomopolis said cheerily.

He glanced up at the ceiling, not sure why that was more natural than talking to a wall. "You're shooting at them, aren't you?"

"All good Decepticon fuelstations have internal defences to keep out the undesireables." She sounded amused. "I'll try to get the trash cleaned up so you can get out of here as soon as possible."

A panel slid open in the wall and a cube of energon slid out onto the counter. He picked it up cautiously, finding it warm to the touch and buzzing slightly. Energon wasn't supposed to do that. "About that... My maps of the area got damaged. Do you have up-to-date versions?"

"As up-to-date as they get when you don't move for four hundred years. Plug a datalink into the counter." A button began to blink with a red light next to his elbow. "Under there's all the ports. What happened to your maps?"

Breakdown pressed the button, and a panel slid back to reveal more different types of ports than he had realized existed. He ran his fingers over them, trying to find the one his datalink would fit. "I tried to access the planetary GPS, and the next thing I knew my maps got eaten."

The panel shut so fast it nipped his fingertips. His optics flashed, then he glared up at the ceiling. "What's the idea-?"

"You opened yourself up to the datasphere! You're probably riddled with viruses!"

"-What?"

There was a soft hiss from the air vents, and he automatically scanned to make sure she wasn't piping in something corrosive. No, it just looked like she was venting excess carbon dioxide. "You opened yourself to the datasphere, carboy. You said so yourself - you put out a wireless call for some information. We've been fighting the Autobots for **how long**, and they never told you **not to do that**? The whole thing belongs to the infowar programs now; they're practically feral, and some of them got programmed to _rewrite_ themselves so they could be _better_. Whatever **genius** did that deserves to have his head opened up with no firewalls. Let them eat **him**."

Breakdown didn't think he understood everything she'd just said. Mostly because if he understood as much as he thought he did, he wanted to curl up in a corner and gibber. Sentient programs in the air, waiting to get into his head and change his mind and he'd just opened up and said 'come and get me!' and not even realized it-

"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." Blunt-tipped cables curled around his shaking shoulders, a loop of one curving up to brush his cheek. "Calm down, carboy. Sit down, drink some energon."

He shook his head; he'd spill it all over the floor like this, he just knew it.

One blunt tip nudged against his mouth. "Drink."

"I-"

The blunt tip seemed to explode into segments, and he struggled as four metal legs clamped down on his face while a probe slid into his mouth. The cables curled tight around him, heavy and constraining now that he wanted them away. Then the probe engaged his fuel-intake port and hot energon poured into him. It somehow managed to be darker than any energon from Earth but not as harsh as what was served in the bars of Cybertron.

"Now, you just have a drink and calm down. A good programmer can fix your head right up, especially if all that happened was your maps got destroyed."

His optics dimmed, and the colors of the room faded to greys. //You're drugging me.//

"Just a few tranquilizers."

//I'm going to shoot you.//

"Actually you're going to collapse into defrag pretty soon now. Sweet dreams!"

He was **so** going to shoot her as soon as he could lift his arm. Treacherous-

His optics went black, and then the rest of his mind followed.

# # #

Light, and his berth under his cheek, replaced blackness with felt like the flip of a switch. Breakdown blinked his optics and stared out at the quarters he shared with the other limb-piece Stunticons. Two berths on each wall, one above the other, lockers at the far end, and nothing at all homely about the room. They hadn't lived here long enough to make it into a nest, and they didn't plan to.

"Ah, you're awake." Dead End strode into his line-of-sight. "I suspected the green female had overdosed you with whatever tranquilizer she forced into your systems and you would lay here in a coma."

He fit that together with his memories of what had come just before. "... She brought me back?"

"Oh, yes. She arrived with you in her arms, strode right past Motormaster and the rest of us, and took you straight to the medics. It was quite amusing to watch, especially with Motormaster storming after her. They had a shouting matching up and down the halls of the base."

"Only a shouting match?" Wildrider poked his head into the room. "He almost took her head off! Oh, hey, Breakdown's awake!" He yanked his head out of the doorway and yelled down the hall, "Breakdown's awake! Come and get a look before he can move again!"

"What?" Breakdown tried to get up and deck Wildrider, but none of his motor systems responded to his commands.

"She did say that would be the last part to wear off." Dead End laid a hand on his shoulder. "I suspect only Drag Strip will come. Motormaster has likely gone off-road and gotten himself horribly maimed."

Breakdown glared at Dead End, not liking that faint hint of glee he heard in his brother's voice. "Where's he driving to?"

Wildrider darted into the room, spun around, then flung himself at the berth opposite Breakdown. "He's chasing after that girl. 'Cause she left before he could pound her for drugging you, and Coldspike is all 'dude, I don't care enough to order her back, now go 'way, boy, you bother me'."

Somehow, Breakdown could not possibly imagine the bomber **ever** saying 'dude'.

Drag Strip sauntered into the room, shaking a pair of dice in one hand. He glanced at Breakdown and smirked. "Yeah, he's awake. You have fun with the vampire, Breakdown?"

"Vampire?" Wildrider asked. "Whaddaya mean 'vampire'?"

Drag Strip shrugged. "I brought her up during the game with Sonar and Strangle. Seems she's got a reputation for ambushing Autobots and sucking all their fuel out. Real effective and good to get a cube off of if you aren't squeamish."

"She was more generous than most of the people on this planet," Breakdown said. "Better energon than the bars, too."

"Yeah?" The dice stopped clattering in Drag Strip's hand as he turned a speculative look on Breakdown. "You think we can keep her?"

"She already left, Dragster." Wildrider threw himself off the bed and tackled Drag Strip at the knees, the two of them hitting the ground with a clang. The wrestling match was inevitable after that. "Totally and completely left. Walking to Polyhex left. Going to shag Astrotrain left. Gone, vamoose, never coming back."

"Going to shag Astrotrain?" Dead End asked.

"She said she was!" Wildrider headbutted Drag Strip, while the yellow racecar drove his knee into Wildrider's abdomen.

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

Breakdown made a small sound as he finally managed to sit up. Dead End glanced at him briefly, then stepped out of the way as the Lamborghini lunged at the other two Stunticons. "Wildrider!"

"Hey! Hey! What's this for? I didn't do anything to you!"

"Except for-"

"Shut **up**, Deady!"

It felt good to be home again.

**End**


	25. Excited: Slash

**Excited Breakdown**

# # #

"Onslaught!" Breakdown moaned, then all coherency fled from him. Breathy, mostly-stifled cries punctuated the smothered wail of his engines.

Dead End shivered a bit at the sound of Breakdown's voice and peeked around the corner once more. He shouldn't do this, shouldn't be here at all. What Breakdown liked to do in his spare time might certainly get him killed by Motormaster, but the Porsche knew he was increasing the chance of the truck discovering Breakdown's sport just by being there.

But the sight of it...

Optics covered by interrogator's blinders, hands cuffed behind him, the cream and blue Lamborghini leaned back against Onslaught. The dark missile-truck's hands roamed hungrily over his body, mask nuzzling at Breakdown's shoulder. Breakdown kept turning his head as if to kiss him, but each time he did, Onslaught would work his fingers into a transformation seam or wheel-well. It made the Lamborghini _squirm_ so.

The dark, rumbling roar of Onslaught's engines overlaid everything.

Dead End ducked his head back around the edge of the door. He should leave. Take those cries and sights with him back to his quarters and-

-And forget about it. Tormenting himself with what he could not have was even more unbearable than merely existing.

**End**


	26. Daring

**Daring Breakdown**

# # #

//I expect our brothers are already dead.// The Porsche's tires squealed as he rounded the corner of parked cars and zoomed up the next lane. //And when Prowl and Red Alert choose to stop toying with us, we'll join them.//

//We'll be all right if we can just get back on the expressway,// Breakdown responded, bare inches behind Dead End. They were almost at the end of this row, and Prowl was _right behind them_, and there were humans ducking hastily out of the way amid their cars, and they knew what he was-

Calm. He had to be calm if they were going to get out of this alive. //Left up here.//

//Of course I'm going to go left.// Dead End replied as he threw himself into another squealing turn. //However, I don't see how we can get out of this parking lot and back onto the highway without at least one of us being wounded by one of the Autobots.//

He paused, and Breakdown knew exactly what he was going to say. He gunned his accelerator, instead, forcing Dead End to speed up the extra few miles-per-hour he was still capable of. He didn't need Dead End getting him down right now. He needed something else. Something... different.

Wildrider, he thought miserably, wouldn't be stuck in this situation. Wildrider would do something crazy and stupid that would probably get him out of-

If he'd been in robot-mode, Breakdown's grin would have scared even Wildrider. //You want out of this parking lot? Okay.//

The route he dropped into Dead End's head actually made the Porsche chuckle. //Innovative.//

//If it's stupid and it works...// Breakdown said as he crashed through the display windows of the Macys.

**End**


	27. Transforming

**Transforming Breakdown**

# # #

A/N: This probably won't make as much sense unless you're familiar with Ranma 1/2.

# # #

Dead End quietly poured the tiny teapot of steaming hot water over the blue-and-white cat. Steam billowed and suddenly it was Breakdown sitting on the ground, looking terribly annoyed.

"I hate this," he muttered. "Hate it, hate it, hate-"

The pipe running overhead burst, spraying both of the Stunticons with freezing saltwater. The safety interlocks engaged, cutting off this section of the system from the waterflow to prevent flooding, but it was already too late for both cars.

A maroon and black duck promptly sat down and tucked his head under one wing. The cat poked him curiously with a paw, and when that elicited no reaction, he grabbed the duck by the back of the neck and started to walk off with it.

**End**


	28. On Vacation

**Fabled Kaon**

# # #

Breakdown slunk out of the hostel, checking over his shoulder to make sure Motormaster hadn't noticed him leaving. He didn't think the truck cared if he left as long as he came back, but if Motormaster noticed, so would all the others. And then Wildrider would try to go with him, and he'd shove the Ferrari into one of the canals, and nothing good could come of that. He just wanted to spend some time away from his brothers, enjoying the leave he arranged for _himself_, dammit!

Slag it, he corrected himself. He had to lose all the Earth slang from his vocabulary; it kept attracting attention he didn't want.

He'd still arranged the trip to Kaon for himself. Except he'd made the mistake of telling Dead End about it, and Dead End had **actually** done something proactive. The Porsche had mentioned it to Drag Strip, who complained about it to Wildrider, who let it spill in front of Motormaster. The next thing Breakdown knew, he had to expand his travel plans to include the other four Stunticons. There was no way he could have half as much fun as he had planned to with Motormaster, Drag Strip, and Wildrider around. People **noticed** them; they earned reputations just by standing in one place for too long.

He didn't want to be noticed. He wanted to explore.

Outside the flickering radiance cast by the hostel's badly maintained exterior lights, the street got a lot darker. Sure, there was a streetlight at each corner, but they had barely begun to brighten to their 'day' setting. The tall, crammed-together buildings kept most of the light from the rest of the city out of this neighborhood.

Breakdown kept to the building side of the street as he walked to the corner. The soft sound of the liquid moving in the canals disturbed him. Was that just the wash of the pseudo-tide created by those interconnected labyrinthine waterways and the boats moving through them, or someone weighted down and struggling under the surface?

He **really** didn't like the opaque liquids of Cybertron. But fabled Kaon, the south polar city of the canals, was too much to resist.

It was all Dead End's fault, really. Dead End's taunt to Drag Strip about not knowing his own culture made Breakdown realize that he didn't know much of anything about Cybertron himself. So he started reading Shockwave's terse files on the culture of Cybertron, and that branched into looking up the cities, and by the time he discovered the neutral who sold city-guides written by another neutral, he was thoroughly lost.

Shockwave's files had nothing on Cinder's Guides, and he was discovering that Cinder's Guide to Kaon couldn't cover a third of the sights. No wonder people kept calling it 'fabled Kaon'.

The city was **_old_**. It had already been ancient when Megatron rose to power, the sprawling megapolis covering the south polar region for hundreds of miles around. The vast shipping canals that came down from Iacon flowed through to the heart of the city, each of them sprouting millions of branches as they entereed the city. Everything went through Kaon, and Kaon forbade nothing within its borders. It had always been that way- Breakdown remembered reading how riots had broken out when the first Decepticon governor tried to change that.

Taxes, they didn't object to, he'd noticed. Kaon paid the highest taxes on the most variety of items in the Empire. Yet there was never any complaint about that.

A small, swift boat cut through the canal off to his side, so quiet he hadn't realized it was coming until he saw it. There were a lot of boats like that in Kaon, he'd noticed.

As he rounded the corner, Breakdown caught his first sight of the Starspire. It rose over the sprawl of buildings and canals to the south, a vast spiral tower that had been built directly over the southern pole itself. Once it had held the rulers of Kaon, but now it was an incredible museum with miles and miles of galleries. There was an observation point at the very top of it, so far off the ground that a mech could see from one end of Kaon to another... If he had good enough optics.

Up there, he could see all of the magical city, could watch people go about their lives and no one would look back at **him**, would even know he was there. It would be wonderful.

All he had to do was get there without getting turned around in this maze of canals and sidewalks.

Off to Breakdown's left, a canal divided the street neatly in half. It was a sluggish red-brown color and just **full** of little boats that moved up and down it. Some of them seemed to be Transformers themselves, but most were run by scrawny neutrals who cheerfully shouted invective at each other.

"Hey! You, Decepticon!" A voice with the local accent called out. "You need a ride? Cheap!"

Breakdown instinctively turned to see who was yelling and found himself looking in the optics of one of those scrawny neutrals. This one was a dull blue color, with the extremely angular lines and sharp wings of a needle-jet. He lounged against the wall of one of the many tall buildings crammed into the street, keyrings decorating his hands.

The optic-gaze on him made Breakdown shift uncomfortably. He'd left early so he'd be out among them when the crowds crept up! No one was supposed to notice him! "I can fly. I'm okay. Don't need anything. Really."

The neutral snorted. "Sure you can fly. You're a Decepticon! Any Decepticon can fly. But Polyhex boys don't come to Kaon to fly. They come to ride in the boats."

"I didn't come-"

"Bah!" The neutral flicked a spine-sharp wing in his general direction. "Anything worth seeing in the city is worth six times as much by boat. City was built for boats, not for fliers."

The commotion was attracting attention from passerby, and Breakdown shrunk away from their stares. Oh Megatron, couldn't the neutral jet just shut up? People were **staring**!

"Look, I'm just going to the Starspire," he somehow got out as he darted glances all around him. "I'm fine, I don't need a ride."

"And I suppose you're just going to fly up to one of the balcony entrances and fly up the center of the spire to the viewing platform."

"Yes, yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do." Why was he even standing here and arguing? He was a Decepticon, he _owned_ this place. Never mind the nagging little voice that said no, what he owned was Earth, and this city was so much further than Earth than just physically. He didn't have to stand here and take this.

He didn't lift a foot to walk away.

"Bah," the neutral enunciated, scorn in his voice.

There were people **looking**

"They probably think you're trying to pick me up," the neutral commented. "Even though I don't have a whore's spirals. Idiots. You can wind up in the canal for that kind of thing."

Breakdown looked at him blankly, then flinched as the needle-jet met his own optics squarely.

"No one's going to look twice at someone in a boat," the jet said quietly.

Breakdown dropped his gaze to the scarred sidewalk. Maybe if he just stared at this, he wouldn't feel all of the people staring at him. The neutral had knee-spikes. Sharp ones. "A-all right."

He thought he heard a sussurration come from the needle-jet, and then a thin blue hand slid into his view. A crooked finger beckoned him to follow, and he dragged his feet as the neutral led him to his boat.

# # #

"See that great hulking barge off to the left in the bay? That's the governor's pleasure boat. I say governor's, not Blazerider's, because the boat goes with the office, not with the mech. There's been some that have tried to take it, but it's not like you can use it anywhere else but Kaon. Not with the Sea of Mercury drained."

"The Sea of Mercury? I thought Cybertron only had two seas." Breakdown asked quietly, optics focusing on the massive barge. Spindledrop really did know the city very well, and he could point out such fascinating things.

Out over the water, the jewel-colored lights of the barge were dim. Bright light from the lighthouse lamps along the shore of the bay lifted Cybertron's endless night to a pale grey twilight. It grew dark the farther away from shore, and in the distance, Breakdown could see the running lights of ships in the center of the inland sea that no one called a sea.

A pavillion covered the upper level of the governor's pleasure barge, done in expensively lush velvet. The side-panels hung down right now, stirring gently in the breeze, but he thought he could just make out ties that would let them be tied up and away so that all anyone had to deal with was the roof over their heads. Gaily colored flags hung high atop long poles at the prow, midpoint, and rear of the barge, chains of jewel-colored lantern-lights winding down the poles to the canopy top.

Breakdown thought he could just make out some sort of patterns on the hull, but it was too far away to make out clearly at this zoom-level. He could zoom in, he supposed, but he'd rather sit back and let Spindledrop tell him more about the city.

"Sea of Mercury was before your time. Before mine, really." Spindledrop guided his boat through the mess of larger ships, weaving in and out and somehow managing to not get himself sunk. "Used to be the most beautiful sea on Cybertron, up just above the equator, west of Perihex. The sea where boats frolicked and Atalantix the Fair rode the waves."

"I've heard of that," Breakdown interjected. "The decadent sailing city."

"Atalantix was a lot of things, yeah. Decadent, sure. If you had the money, you could hire a bauble-maker to make you an artist to entertain you, and they were indentured to your service from creation."

A shudder ran through Breakdown at the thought of such people. Who could sell their own creations, all but **enslave** them?

Spindledrop gave a bark of laughter. "Don't like that much, do you? Heh. When did you get a choice of what you were doing with your life, Decepticon?"

Breakdown bit back on a protest that it wasn't the same for him at all. He didn't think Spindledrop could understand that - **he'd** given up being a Decepticon, or so he claimed. Someone who could do that couldn't understand what it really meant to be a Decepticon.

The jet guided his boat partway around the bay before ducking into a channel going deeper into the city. Here, the architecture was graceful and pleasing, though the designs on them tried to outdo each other in gaudiness. The one with the dome of flashing red and red-purple left strobe spots on Breakdown's vision, and he had to hastily turn away.

Strings of red lights passed like fireflies over the side-canals, strung between buildings and twinkling in the gloom. He spotted a handsome white jet'former standing under one of the soft red streetlights. The jet smiled invitingly when he noticed Breakdown's stare and blew a kiss at him. The Lamborghini ducked his head and looked away.

His gaze landed on a building that seemed almost simple compared to everything else here. The entire front was done in a mosaic that he made out as a reclining pink jet accented in gold. Written in a flowing silver script, turned bloody by the red lights all around, was "Dame Rumour's".

"Nice place, that," Spindledrop commented, waving a hand towards the building. "Dame Rumour serves some of the best drinks you'll ever have, and all the girls are delights. Not a place to go if you're looking to party, but if you want good drinks and better company, there's no finer place to go. Which is why the Dame can charge as much as she does."

"Where do you go if you want to party?" He had to ask.

The jet gestured towards the flashing dome. "Dame Dionysia keeps the best party house in the city. He's always got live music, even gets Kilroy and his band in when they're in the area. Drinks aren't cheap, but they aren't trying to gouge out optics with the prices either. You can usually find a few additives if you're into that. Nice girls, but they aren't spectacular. Dame Dionysia makes his money off a different kind of experience than Dame Rumour does."

Breakdown nodded and turned his gaze up to the Starspire. It loomed much closer now, so big that he thought it was just behind the next block of buildings. But he'd been thinking that since before they'd slipped through the harbor. The sheer size of it kept fooling him.

It was going to be so incredible up there.

"Tell me about the Starspire," he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Spindledrop wasn't looking at him.

The nicest thing about the scrawny jet was that once he'd gotten Breakdown into his boat and separated him from a small measure of his money, Spindledrop just kept his gaze on the canals. Breakdown hadn't once caught him looking at the Stunticon except insofar as the Stunticon was sitting between Spindledrop and the canals they still had to go through.

"What about it? The foundations were laid back before the end of the Second Great War, if the historians are to be believed. Got used as a fortress for a while, until Grievous and his mechs got burned out by the Autobots. That's all in the files they've got up at the gift shop, you know. Pit, you can learn more about Kaon's history by buying gift shop files than you can by reading some of the dreck they've got for public access. The official reports of what's-his-glitch's assassination, the third governor ago, is a complete load of static. I should know, I was there."

"Dreadgate," Breakdown muttered, looking off at the Starspire once again. It had a gift shop? He'd never heard of anything in Polyhex with a gift shop, but Polyhex wasn't really known for it's history and culture. "His name was Dreadgate."

"Yeah, him. Dangerous glitch, and everyone knew it. Some as thought he'd take over from Shockwave if given half a chance. And if that Autobot wench hadn't holed his laser-core, he'd be the one sitting in Polyhex now and not old One-Eye. But the official reports blame it on Blazerider's predecessor even though she wasn't doing anything worth half a gram of energon before then. Not that she did anything worth half a gram after, either. No surprise Blazerider took over in the most bloodless coup anyone's ever seen."

Breakdown frowned and turned to look over his shoulder at Spindledrop. "But the Autobots didn't have anything to do with Dreadgate-"

The needle-jet stepped to one side of the boat, making the whole thing wobble precariously before he settled back in the center. "Sure, they did. No smart Autobot wants a **real** Decepticon warlord running around, and that's what Dreadgate was setting out to be. Besides, I was there. I **know** what happened even when the official reports lie. You read what they say in the Starspire, you'll see I'm telling the truth."

The Lamborghini made some noncommital noise of agreement. Maybe Spindledrop had been there, but Breakdown found that he didn't really want to look at the histories and find out that his guide was a real person. There was something a little bit intoxicating about the idea of being boated to the Starspire by someone who knew the city and that he'd mysteriously never see again.

"Tell me more about the Starspire," Breakdown commanded, gaze turned back to the tower once more.

"You ought to consider being more specific sometime," Spindledrop griped before starting to detail the history of the building through the Golden Age.

# # #

Spindledrop let him off at the indoor quay that filled much of the base of the Starspire. Breakdown didn't look back at the neutral as he walked away, determined that the jet should just disappear and never be seen again by him.

He slipped through the thin crowds until he reached the hollow center that stretched almost all the way to the top. It was alive with jets darting between levels or just playing in the vast open space with an unguarded delight. But there were no non-jets in it, and he couldn't stand the idea of everyone turning to stare at him if he stepped into it. So he transformed into car-mode and drove up the winding, endless ramps.

Countless side galleries curled off from the main ramp, each promising pricelessly beautiful art to the visitor. He'd never had much of a taste for art, not after going with Dead End and Drag Strip to a few exhibitions. Everyone looked around too much, and they paid especially close attention to people who stupidly admitted to not knowing about art. No, art was definitely for other people, not him.

Up and up he went, driving for hours. Megatron, this was even faster than flying for him- How could anything be so huge?

But it was, and he loved it. Loved the way no one looked twice at him, loved the way the crowds just vanished when he reached a certain height, and how almost all the people vanished when he got higher still.

And then he came to the top.

The vast, star-spattered heavens opened up above him, crisp and clear from an almost non-existent atmsophere. Faintly below him, he could see the glow of the city rising up, but it was nothing next to the endless open sky. He thought he could just fall into it.

He ambled to the edge of the tower, and gaped as the city spread out below him. Such a beautiful jewel-glow of lights that went on and on forever. Some of them moved, flitting and darking from larger collections of lights, and some moved along with a stately urgency down lighted paths.

It was so much more than he'd expected, and it made everything about the trip wonderfully worthwhile. This was fabled Kaon, the greatest city in the world, and it belonged to the Decepticons.

It belonged to **him**. Just like Earth.

**End**

Author's Notes: Well, in 2006, I finished my twenty-eighth Reflector ficlet in December. This last year, I finished my twenty-eighth Breakdown ficlet in December. I am **hoping** to finish my twenty-eighth Blitzwing ficlet before December '08, I really am.

I'd like to thank all of the people who've read these stories, especially here on At least on my Livejournal, people have been able to get individual headers for each ficlet. So thank you to everyone who has read this collection of stories that jump from genre to genre. I hope you've enjoyed what you found here.


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